


His last echo

by Teen_Wolf_Entity (Atalanta_Jackson)



Series: Lyric Stories [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Scott McCall is a Bad Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:19:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalanta_Jackson/pseuds/Teen_Wolf_Entity
Summary: This is another dark story about Stiles, I'm sorry (kinda) but I listened to Echo by Jason Walker and got inspired for another sad story. Claudia Stilinski died when Stiles was 8 (I'm not sure if that's accurate, someone correct me if I'm wrong in the comments) from frontotemporal dementia, and I had to search that up because I believe that there is a small chance that Stiles could get it too?





	

_Hello, hello anybody out there? 'Cause I don't hear a sound.  
Alone, alone I don't really know where the world is, but I miss it now._

He knew that he wasn’t as strong or as brave as the majority of his pack. He knew that he wasn’t as oblivious as certain others as well, even though that was what he’d sometimes projected for years, like his mama had told him to. Stiles knew that they were cutting him out, but he knew things that they didn’t. He would be in more pain, but they would still hurt inside. But more than that, Stiles was alone. The scars scattered along his arms, covered by long sleeves, proved that. For once, alright, maybe it wasn’t the first time, Stiles cursed the oblivious werewolves. They were meant to smell emotions, weren’t they? Then how come they couldn’t smell his depression? How come they couldn’t smell the blood soaking into the bandages every morning? He couldn’t blame Malia, she was new to this ‘other people’ business, but the others? They had no excuse. 

_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name like a fool at the top of my lungs._  
_Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm all right but it's never enough._

They had done it. Scott felt a sense of achievement after they had kicked the practically useless spark out of the pack. Never mind the inner pain and countless hours of researching (he now knew why they had always gotten Stiles to do it), but all Stiles had been able to offer was his researching skills, his ability to move dust to stop them, and he was a liability, constantly getting captured and held for them to rescue. Besides, Scott felt his best friend deserved a less-stressful life without the supernatural butting in all the time. 

_'Cause my echo, echo is the only voice coming back._  
_My shadow, shadow is the only friend that I have._

Stiles caught the next plane back to Poland, his homeland, where he simply stood on his favourite cliff and screamed out the pain he’d held inside for several days. His mother’s first pack, his from before they’d moved for his father’s new job as a police officer, understood him in many ways that the McCall-Hale pack hadn’t. His new pack simply let him wail, leaving food and water a meter away from his spot until he was done. 

_Listen, listen I will take a whisper if that's all you had to give._  
_But it isn't, isn't you could come and save me and try to chase the crazy right out of my head._

Lydia was a layered person, for lack of a better word. At school, she had been the beautiful, dumb, popular girl to everyone until she did the IQ test. Except Stiles. Stiles had looked past her wealth, past her popularity, past her _masks_ , to the real her. To the smart, frightened young girl who needed help that she could get, and he’d crushed on her anyway. To the pack, she’d never entirely removed her masks to completely reveal herself, she still had a few left to peel off. Lydia believed that Stiles had never even seen the masks that she had spent so long in the mirror every morning re-applying, he’d always seen her true self. And it had always been a refreshing break from those idiots that thought that they knew her. They knew practically nothing about her, for God’s sake! And so when Stiles left both the pack and the country, all Lydia’s masks went back up even stronger; to everyone. After all, she had trusted only Stiles, Jackson and Danny with herself, but if Scott could kick his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, out of the pack, then none of the rest of them were safe. However many times Lydia closed her eyes and tried to pretend that things were the same, they weren’t. She had gotten used to hearing a snarky reply to comments from the others, and Stiles and Isaac’s ongoing argument about scarves every morning. 

_I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name like a fool at the top of my lungs._  
_Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm all right but it's never enough._

Stiles felt the kindness of the teachers was wearing thin. New school, new uniform, new bags, new subjects, new everything. He wasn’t the smartest in his year anymore, but that was because he was a year into college, the Polish high school making him graduate early. It was a bonus in his opinion, as he was encouraged to find things out whenever he wanted to, but the Polish schools also taught way more about the subjects, and indeed, more subjects, than the American schools. But Stiles took to it like a duck to water, soon forgetting that he ever heard of the McCall-Hale pack. Little did he know, this was exactly what his new pack wanted. They wanted him to forget about the old pack, confirm his place in the new one. After all, there was a reason Claudia Stilinski agreed to leave so quickly, and it wasn’t just because of her husband’s new job. 

_'Cause my echo, echo is the only voice coming back._  
_My shadow, shadow is the only friend that I have._

Malia felt abandoned. Stiles had been the only one who had tried to understand her, and now the others just left her alone. She genuinely missed her boyfriend, ex now, she supposed. He had lost contact with them entirely when he’d moved, and Malia missed the way that he would flail into a room and then drop down onto her lap for her to start stroking his hair. She always did it, as Malia felt it was a small way to repay him for his kindness to her. So Malia stopped coming to pack meetings, subtly showing that she disapproved of their actions. However, most of the pack (read: the werewolves) were too dense to realise what she was doing. They thought that she wanted some alone time after her quiet break-up with Stiles, which she did, but she also needed someone to help her to get through it, which Malia didn’t have. She wasn’t very interested in fashion, as most other girls were, so a ‘mani-pedi’, whatever that was, wouldn’t help. Nor would a shopping trip. 

_I don't wanna be an island and I just wanna feel alive and get to see your face again._  
_I don't wanna be an island and I just wanna feel alive and get to see your face again._  
_Just my echo, Oh, my shadow, you're my only friend._

Stiles had no friends. At least, no real ones. And he had accepted that. He only needed his pack, who he wasn’t even very close with. Sometimes, he missed his old pack. But those moments were few and far-between, and always, _always_ immediately followed by the memories of how they had betrayed him. But he soon reconsidered staying with the Polish pack when he found out that he had frontotemporal dementia, like his mother. And that had to come from somewhere. With that, Stiles began to have suspicions about his new pack. True, there was no chance of him running into any other packs, as his current one’s territory covered all of Poland, but they seemed too good to be true. Yes, they took him in when he was lost, but Stiles realised that Claudia took him to America for more than one reason. And anyway, Stiles had already graduated from college in Poland. He could be several different things now, but he knew that he wouldn’t live long enough to do that. At the most he would live for 2-5 months, at worst he wouldn’t survive the trip over to Beacon Hills. 

_And I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name like a fool at the top of my lungs._  
_Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm all right but it's never enough_

Lydia stood at the gate with Malia, looking for Stiles when he came out. He had sent word, the first contact he’d had with them since he’d left 27 months ago, about how he was coming back to his only family for a little while. He’d also sent another letter to the Sheriff, who had then read it aloud to the two girls. It had mentioned about how his pack had been brainwashing him, and Stiles had gotten brain cancer from what they were using. Frontotemporal dementia. The same kind as his mother. Even though there was very little reason to be so cautious, Lydia’s hands twitched next to her purse, which contained wolfsbane perfume and a pistol, just in case. She never knew when a stray were-creature could attack her, and Lydia wanted to be prepared. 

_'Cause my echo, echo._  
_Oh my shadow, shadow._

His spark, which was supposed to help him, was helping the cancer along, killing him faster. On the bright side, Stiles wouldn’t live long enough to lose his mind, become unrecognisable to his friends and family. That was what had happened to his mother before she’d died when he was 8. But before that, her actions and indeed herself had been entirely unrecognisable to her beloved husband and son. Stiles had had to learn how to cook and clean and generally do all of the housework that his mother should have been doing, plus keep up with his schoolwork. Then Claudia had died and the Sheriff had gotten extremely drunk, staying that way for over a year after his wife had died, so Stiles had had to look after him and make sure that the household bills were payed on time, too. 

_Hello, hello_  
_anybody out there..._

He was alone here, nothing but the advanced technology keeping him alive. Not even the bite could save him, in the end, but he’d felt it was alright. And so, the young spark that was Stiles Stilinski slipped into the afterlife, none other than the nurses and his father noticing until after the funeral. But all of them mourned for ages afterwards, especially Scott, who felt responsible for his ex-best friend dying, even though he wouldn’t’ve been able to do anything except hinder Stiles even further, as the cancer was mostly painless, and Stiles was given pills to block out pain until the end. The Sheriff died several weeks later, as he drank too much and his heart gave out. Scott held himself responsible for that, too. 


End file.
